


Proving His Point

by devovere



Series: Intimacies [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Mostly porn though, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Some Plot, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 02:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: Alpha Chakotay is -- who knew? -- a fucking amazing lover.





	Proving His Point

**Author's Note:**

> Immediately follows “Crossing Lines,” the previous story in this series. A hint of angst here and there, but mostly pure fluffy porn. 
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to beta-readers Killermanatee and Klugtiger, without whose respective efforts this story would have been one-third as long and three times as scientifically and grammatically sloppy.

They did not wait for morning. 

Chakotay felt Kathryn leave his bed. She slipped away quietly, clearly hoping not to wake him, but they were too tangled together. He would have had to be all but comatose not to be roused as she worked herself free, stood, and then resettled the blanket around him. Not wanting to compel her to explain anything, he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even, and as he heard the door to the toilet open and close again, no explanation seemed to be required anyway. 

He stretched then rolled over, facing the partition, and drifted back into a light doze. Maybe he’d get up and take his turn relieving his bladder when she came back. 

She didn’t come back. 

He woke some time later, aware only that it was not yet daylight and that a light was on in the work area of their shelter. He felt behind him, knowing already he was still alone, his narrow bed somehow emptier than it had been every night before this one. 

A cold dread seemed to leak from his brain, coating hollow places in his chest and gut. 

_ She said she couldn’t continue her research. She seemed to finally accept our life here, together. She let me think --  _

He rubbed a hand over his face, hard, wrestling his thoughts under control.  _ Stop _ , he ordered himself.  _ Stop and think _ .  _ What does she need? Start there.  _ That was his peace. 

He rose, then fumbled in the dimness for his underwear. Paused to breathe, finding his center, and came to the doorway. 

She was in her robe, sitting with her back to him, bent over something at the table. He hung his head briefly and braced himself. She'd be working on some new idea, how to find a cure with minimal equipment, how to design a lab on the shuttle, anything she could come up with to justify pulling away from him, strangling this new intimacy at the moment of its birth. 

He didn't know how he would live past this moment. He walked out to meet it just the same. 

At the soft padding noise of his bare feet on the shelter floor, she swiveled around in her chair. “Oh!” she said, but her voice was muffled. She chewed, then swallowed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Her smile, her gorgeous smile, lit up everything in the room, from her eyes to his loins. His brain was slower to understand. 

“No problem. What are you doing?” He stopped a few paces away, not wanting to crowd her, not wanting to presume. 

She blushed. “I got hungry. Have some?” She turned back to the table and produced a bowl heaped with food. The eggs and black beans he’d made for their dinner, which, he recalled now, she’d hardly touched, exhausted from the day’s heavy work outdoors. 

Relief swept over him, and he smiled. “You go ahead. I'm just thirsty.” He was, he realized, and moved to the replicator. Calling up a glass of water, he noticed she had none, and ordered two. 

“Mm, thank you,” she said as he set a glass before her. 

He pulled another chair around and settled next to her, close enough to reach but distant enough to watch. And, as he drank, that's what he did -- just watched her -- eating, pushing her hair back from her face, paging through something on a PADD. 

He wanted her again. Still.  _ Always _ , he thought, and smiled at the realization that, as much as everything had changed now, desiring Kathryn was for him a universal constant. 

She looked up and caught his grin. “What?” she asked, her own lovely mouth curving up at the corners once more. 

“Nothing,” he replied easily.  _ Let the woman eat,  _ he told himself.  _ Rare enough to see her admit she needs to _ . “What are you reading?” 

“A soil analysis manual. It occurred to me that looking at nitrate levels in the topsoil might give us an idea of how often those plasma storms happen, and how that might affect the soil’s productivity over time.”

_ Productivity. Time. _ His heart leapt in his chest.  _ She wants to plant things, put down roots _ . He imagined her in the dirt, on her hands and knees, and had to bite the inside of his mouth to quell a sharp spike of raw lust. 

She was absent-mindedly licking her spoon clean as her focus returned to the screen. She drew it from her mouth and licked her lips. He crossed his legs to hide his growing erection and wished he’d put on more than just underwear. 

“Are you planning a garden, then?” he teased, glad that his voice wasn’t betraying his strong emotions. “What’s on the menu, coffee beans?” 

She gave him a sidelong measured glance that did absolutely nothing to quell his slow burn. “Eventually, maybe. But coffee is a long-term investment, agriculturally. And, I must confess, it’s a bit lacking in nutrients.” 

“I’m surprised to hear you admit to any shortcoming in your favorite beverage. In fact, I’m surprised you’re not drinking the stuff right now.” 

“It’s 0300 hours, Chakotay,” she said in a practical tone. 

“Never stopped you before, did it? Are you hoping to get back to sleep, then?”

She turned to face him, chin raised. “Back to bed, at least.”

That did it. He reached out, grasped her legs, bare below the pink satin that stopped at mid-thigh, and tugged her towards him, wheeled chair and all, until her knees were between his thighs. She let him pluck the PADD from her one hand and the spoon from her other, placing them without haste on the table. Drawing her now empty hands towards him, so that she leaned over his lap, he placed them firmly on his bare shoulders. 

Her head was tipped back slightly, hair falling past her shoulders. Letting his gaze drop, he looked frankly down her loosely-tied robe and felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her breasts, bare and lovely and revealed to him, only to him. He glanced at her face and found her smirking at him. 

“Something funny?” he asked, and his voice was half growl. Her eyes widened and lips parted slightly. 

Her answer came in a voice more breathy than husky. “No. Everything is very, very serious, I think.” 

He put his hands under her arms and pulled her sideways onto his lap, back against the table. With one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders and the other laid possessively across her hips, he turned his face to meet hers and kissed her, warm and passionate, on and on until her hands on his shoulders slid around his neck and clung there, like she felt herself being pulled away on a powerful current and he was her life raft, her anchor. 

A voice in his head was telling him that this was the time, the one chance he’d been waiting for since the day they’d met, to show her what they could be together, how he could make her feel. As ready as he was to just take her, she’d worn the sharp edge off his need, and he knew he could control himself now, could keep all his focus on her pleasure, for as long as he needed to. 

If he could just do this well enough, make her feel good enough, surely she’d never think of being apart from him again.  

As he inched his hand upward, from the curve of her hipbone to her waist and rib cage, she began to moan into the kiss. Finally she broke free, panting, lips swollen, face and chest flushed a lovely pink. 

“Chakotay,” she gasped. He didn’t reply but just kissed her again, taking his time. He let his tongue move past her lips, its tip brushing her sensitive hard palate just beyond her teeth, finding her own tongue and curling around it. Then he returned his focus to her sweet and delicious lips, the upper one and then the lower, and then her jawline, that spot below her ear, her throat. Then back to plunder her mouth again, implacable where before he’d been tender. Spot by spot, he built her arousal with confidence and control. 

His hand reached her breast, slipping inside her robe, and proceeded to draw a decreasing spiral with the lightest of touches, working from the outside in towards her nipple, a little closer with every pass. By now she was whimpering, pressing herself against his chest and torso. 

This time he broke the kiss. He was hard as a rock and knew she could feel him, digging into her upper thigh. No matter; he had other plans for her first. 

Looking intently at her, he put an arm under her knees and drew her body more fully across his lap. Then he slowly shifted his chair to the right, away from the table, and carefully leaned her back, to lie on his arm, which in turn rested upon the table. She was semi-reclined across his lap, one hand clutching his knee and the other one his shoulder, laid open before him, pliant and practically vibrating with need. 

He took one end of the satin belt of her robe and very, very slowly pulled, until the bow came undone. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, knowing full well but wanting to hear him say it, he thought. 

“It’s my turn to look at you, Kathryn.” His voice was low and calm, as if she couldn’t tell just how tense he was with wanting her. 

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if we could both lie down?” she pointed out. Her words were logical, but offered in such a half-hearted tone as to be thoroughly unconvincing. From the way she was moving, squirming slightly on his lap, pressing her damp and heated core against his muscled thigh, she seemed to find this arrangement altogether exciting. 

“Maybe I would be more comfortable,” he admitted, “But that’s hardly the point.”

She appeared to think about that as she wetted her lips with her tongue and clasped his wrist where it rested across her body. “What is the point, then?” 

“Well,” he said, now dragging a finger through the half knot that remained in the belt, so that it came untied and the sides of her robe fell open, “I was thinking...” 

“About what?” she panted. 

“About what we did earlier...” 

“Which time?”

“Both times.”

She blinked. “What about them?” 

“I’m afraid you may have gotten the wrong idea about me.” Now his hand was massaging her stomach, moving lower. 

“Wrong idea?” she echoed, sounding faint. 

“I didn’t last five minutes either time.” 

She swallowed. “They were good minutes.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. They were … mind-blowingly good for me. As you may have noticed. But.” 

A moan as his fingers grazed lightly over her labia. “... But?” 

“I’m worried you may be thinking I have no patience and no staying power. I intend to change your mind about that.” 

Her eyes rolled back in her head at what he did next. 

\-----

It didn't seem possible, she marveled, that such small, light touches should have her writhing on his lap, panting with need. But even as his fingers grazed her pubis, barely touching her sensitive lips, the thin skin of her inner thighs, tickling her curls, she was also keenly aware of his devastatingly erotic voice. 

"I knew you would be beautiful, Kathryn, but I never could have imagined how incredibly lovely you look like this.”

All the while his fingers kept moving lightly over and against her. 

“Your skin is so perfect, so smooth, all over, everywhere I touch, and -- I can hardly believe I finally get to touch you, Kathryn, after all this time. It's driving me wild to have you here in my arms, under my hands, against my skin."

He couldn’t seem to stop saying her name, and the  _ way _ he said it -- like it was delicious in his mouth, like he’d been saying it in his head, in his fantasies, for years -- was making her dizzy. His hand snaked up to cup a breast, tease a nipple, and then he ran his fingernails from her sternum down the length of her torso and took up tormenting her sex again. 

"When you took me, earlier, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to drive you that crazy, too. Make you moan, make you scream. Will you moan for me, Kathryn?" 

She was moaning. She couldn't help it. It was almost uncomfortable to let herself be so completely at his mercy, so transparently aroused, as he sat there in complete control of his own body and voice. This took her to an edge she had rarely explored with previous lovers, and she had forgotten how it brought up feelings of vulnerability along with pleasure. 

"Chakotay," she gasped. He turned warm black eyes to her face, instantly attuned to the new tone of desperation in her voice. 

"Yes, Kathryn. Tell me what you need now." In the back of her mind, she noted that he left it open; she could tell him to stop, tell him she needed to be more active, to touch him. 

But, somehow, all she could say was, "Please! Please, more, please now!" And she curled her hips upward, chasing his fingers with her center, begging with her whole body. 

He didn't withhold what she sought. His index finger sank deep into her folds and firmly caressed, sliding through wetness and heat, back and forth from core to clit, again and again. Her moans became cries, every exhale taking the pitch of her voice higher. She kicked her feet, desperate for purchase, until one heel finally found the edge of his seat, letting her leverage her weight to rub against his hand. 

All she could think about now was coming. He kept talking as he brought her closer and closer to that brink, that moment of peak tension and explosion. "You feel so hot, Kathryn, so wet for me, so wild and primal.”

His voice was calm and relentless, his words unrushed, belying his own body’s obvious arousal pressed hard against her hip. 

Then she heard that growl in his voice that had given her such an unexpected thrill earlier. “I love that you show me what you need, that you let me see you getting close. You're close, aren't you? Do you need me inside, do you need my fingers deep inside you?" They pressed against her entrance, showing what he could do next, if she wanted. 

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me!" She was shouting, pumping her hips up convulsively, clutching at whatever part of him she could reach, out of her head with sensation and the need for more. 

He sank two long thick fingers into her vagina, and she let out a deep, sighing moan to feel him at last within her body. He gave her the space of a few breaths to adjust. Her eyes were screwed shut but she knew he was studying her face, looking for any sign of pain, of resistance or violation. She couldn't find the words to reassure him, could only roll her head around on his arm, arching her body against him. Her inner muscles began to squeeze his fingers rhythmically, seeking more stimulation, more movement. 

Instead of thrusting his fingers in and out as she expected, though, he curled them inside her, stroking her front wall. The pleasure generated by her g-spot was so intense she stopped breathing. 

Then his thumb found her clit, rubbing circles against it, and his fingers began to scissor inside her, and she crashed over the precipice, seized by rolling waves of burning ecstasy, from her cunt to her belly to her breasts and limbs and throat and face and she was shrieking with a joy that bordered on agony. 

She could hardly believe he had brought her so resoundingly to orgasm using nothing but the thumb and two fingers of his right hand and his voice.  _ Kathryn _ , she thought,  _ you are in deep, deep trouble _ . 

\-----

When Kathryn seemed to have collected her wits enough to tell up from down, Chakotay stood, lifting her in his arms, and laid her on the table’s edge. Going to his knees, he pressed her legs up, and promptly used his mouth on her. He couldn’t talk while he did this but hoped she would make up for his silence with more screaming. It didn’t take long. 

She tasted … like Kathryn, her essence, fresh, salty, a hint of tang and bitter. Her sex under his tongue was almost like a living being on its own, rippling, clenching, gushing her pleasure, quenching his thirst and stoking his appetite for more, so much more. 

Long strokes with the flat of his tongue made her writhe and call out. The tip pressed firm and steady against her clit made her arch her back and brought her heels hard against his shoulder blades. Light sucking, just a hint of teeth, and her breath caught in her lungs, as she half sat up and wailed. 

She climaxed once that way, just from his mouth, a smooth rolling shudder that shook the table as it deepened her voice, a wordless guttural cry that faded into harsh panting. He backed off slowly with his tongue, wanting to bring her down gently, not leave her too abruptly. As he did so, he glanced up her body, doing a visual check on her state of mind. 

She was leaning back on her elbows, staring at him, mouth open, a look of pure unrestrained hunger in her eyes. As he watched, she brought her hands to her breasts and began to play with her nipples. 

She licked her lips. 

He had to close his eyes and grip the edge of the table to prevent himself from standing up and just plunging his cock into her that second.  _ Not yet _ , he told himself.  _ Not until she’s had her fill of this _ . 

Back to his task. 

This time he fucked her with his tongue, rubbing her clit with his nose until his vision started to tunnel for lack of air. He pulled his face away and brought his hands back into play, two long fingers inside her like before, the thumb of the other hand over her hardened nub, the rest of that hand large and flat on her pelvis, pressing down. 

She was quickly coming unglued again, as if she’d never really stopped climaxing the last time. Something changed in her scent that made him frankly wild for her, and her voice took on a powerful edge he hadn’t heard before. 

Her feet rested on his shoulders, knees spread wide. She was flat on her back now, hands still at her breasts but fingers rigid and trembling. He thought she might bruise herself, and felt a glimmer of concern. 

She must have felt him slow. “Don’t stop!” she ordered, voice strained. Standing, he bent over her body, bringing his head level with her breasts. He shifted the rotation and angle of his two hands but kept them busy, working her relentlessly. As her feet curled under his arms, deepening the penetration of his fingers, he quickly added a third and began licking and nipping at her breasts. She grabbed the sides of his head, nails scraping into his scalp, and turned his mouth to one rigid peak. He hungrily sucked it into his mouth, hard and deep pulses as she pressed his face against her, crying out, actually sobbing now. 

“Yes! … Yes! … Please -- I can’t -- oh god -- Chakotay!!” she screamed, and everything in her seemed to grasp and clench and seize at once. He heard and felt her head knock against the table. She released his head as he let go of her breast, arms falling limply to her sides. Her chest and abdomen heaved, sucking air, and her mouth worked, as if trying to form words. 

Gently, carefully, he moved her legs back down to the table, then straightened up and placed his hands, warm and still, on places he hoped she found soothing -- one on her stomach, one on her hip. She was clearly conscious, but he had the strong sense that she wasn’t fully present, was still coping with aftershocks of sensation, that mind-blowing sense of expansion and unity that she had given to him just hours before. The table’s cold surface could not have been particularly comfortable, but she seemed in no hurry to rise. 

He quietly moved away from her and refilled her water. When he returned to her side, her eyes were open, and she gazed at him, wordless, for a long moment. She lifted her head, shaking it as if to clear it of fog, and he helped her sit up. 

He put the water in her hand and leaned against the table, draining his own glass and setting it aside. She still looked dazed, but after a moment put her cup to her lips and drank, her eyes returning again and again to his face. 

Finally, she set it down, looked at him again, and said, “Wow.” 

He chuckled, feeling a release of tension. He hadn’t known he’d be nervous about her reaction, afterward. “Good wow?” he grinned. 

“Um,” she began, then gave a short, bewildered laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.” She shook her head again, gazed around the room with a look of wonder on her face, and then back to him. He had the most curious feeling that she was seeing him for the first time. 

Then she said, “Thank you,” and he melted inside. 

Before he could find words to respond, she tilted her head in a sympathetic way and said, “Now come here.” She tugged at his elbow, guiding him to stand in front of her. Then she picked up her water again and offered it to him. When he silently declined, she drank the rest in a gulp. 

She unselfconsciously wiped the back of her hand across her mouth when she finished, and the visual -- so reminiscent of what he’d fuzzily watched her do in his bed earlier that night -- skipped his brain and went directly to the base of his spine. Instantly hard again, he made a strangled noise in his throat and gripped her elbows. 

“Yes, I thought so,” she commented almost blandly, and swiftly pushed down his underwear. Drawing her agile fingers once along his rigid cock, she raised her knees, wrapped her ankles around his back, and pulled him towards her. 

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly. “You’re not worn out?”

She raised an eyebrow and the absolute sexiness of her expression almost made him come against her. He gripped her shoulders compulsively and had to look away. 

“Not for lack of effort on your part,” she commented, sounding both wry and a bit breathless herself, “but I think I’m up for one more round.” 

If she had said anything about putting him out of his misery or feeling a duty to relieve him of his hard-on, he’d have stopped. He would have. There were certain ideas he didn’t tolerate in his sex life, and an aroused male’s entitlement to orgasm was one of them. But if it was her idea, and for her desire … 

He bent to kiss her, and heard her small whimper of shocked pleasure at the lingering taste of her own fluids on and in his mouth. Then he dug both hands under her buttocks, widened his stance, and picked her up. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, but wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. 

He turned, took two quick steps, and then she was against the wall and they were rubbing against each other, fumbling for alignment and angle, everything hard and slick and suddenly frantic with need, both of them gasping and grunting and then finally he was inside her and  _ oh fuck _ it was even better than the first time. They quickly found a rhythm, each panting against the other’s shoulder. By some miracle of exhausted, pre-dawn intellect, he remembered wanting to last this time, wanting to delay his own pleasure to ensure hers, but  _ FUCK _ it was hard with her pressed so tightly to him, her little whimpers and groans right in his ear, her breath hot on his neck, her strong lean legs tight around his middle, her core even tighter as she gripped him internally. 

Then she tipped her head up and dug her fingernails  _ hard _ into his upper back as she shuddered silently around and against him. 

He couldn’t help it. In a desperate attempt not to climax, he sank his teeth into the nearest thing he could reach: Kathryn’s trapezius, where shoulder met neck. It was only with the greatest effort that he managed to avoid breaking her skin. He moaned loudly, beyond words, almost beyond conscious thought altogether … until her yelp of pain penetrated his awareness. 

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted, jerking his head back to study his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to --”

Kathryn seemed oblivious to his words. Her face was screwed up, clearly in significant pain. She ground out, “Arrgh,” and then “Damn it! Put me down!  _ Cramp! _ ”

Belatedly, Chakotay realized that she had released his neck and was rubbing one hip vigorously with a clenched fist. “Oh,” he offered, and wanted to smack himself.  _ Fool! _

“Put. Me.  _ Down! _ ” 

He grimaced, pulled out of her, and quickly lowered her to the floor. As her feet reached the ground, however, her knees buckled, and she just kept sinking. She flung one arm back over his shoulder and swore again. 

He helped her sit on the floor, gently disengaging her arm, and then coaxed her onto her side, digging into the spasming hip flexor muscle with his own strong fingers until it finally relaxed. She groaned, first with pain, then with relief, and finally, he realized, with embarrassment. 

“Oh, Chakotay, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as young as I used to be.” Her face was flushed, what he could see of it, half-hidden behind her hair with her eyes on the floor. “We were doing so well, too,” she said, sitting up and giving him a crooked, bashful smile. 

“Please, Kathryn. I’m just glad you’re okay. I was afraid I’d hurt you.” He smoothed a finger over the spot he’d bitten. His teeth had left indents in her skin, and he swallowed, feeling ashamed. “I think this may bruise.” 

She ran her hand over the spot. “It feels all right; I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

He helped her to her feet. “Can you walk?” he inquired solicitously. 

She summoned her best glare at being treated like an invalid, but as he drew his arm away, she swayed and clung to the wall. She flushed again. “Goodness,” she muttered. “What the hell did you do to my sense of balance?” But she waved him away when he offered his arm again. “Go and find our clothes, will you?” 

When he turned away, though, she remarked, “You’re bleeding!” 

He craned his neck, trying to look down his back. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel a stinging sensation and itchy trickles in a few spots below both shoulders. 

“Huh,” he replied. He contorted himself and managed to dab a fingertip directly into one of the scratches Kathryn had apparently gouged out of his back. 

It came away tacky and, sure enough, smeared with his blood. “Impressive,” he commented, grinning. He turned to look at her, wanting her to share the joke, but found her looking pale and slightly shocked. 

“Hey,” he said, reassuringly. “It’s nothing, Kathryn. You gave as good as you got, in the heat of the moment.” He gathered their garments from the floor and went to her. She still leaned against the wall and now had her face in her hands. “Hey,” he repeated. “What’s the matter?” 

She looked up at him with eyes so huge he felt he could fall into them and drown. With her hands against her cheeks, slowly shaking her head back and forth, she looked overwhelmed, done in. 

“Kathryn,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m fine. This is nothing to be upset about.” 

“Okay,” she said, a bit faintly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way.” 

She reached for her robe and drew it on, belting it and tugging it straight. He stepped into his underwear. They didn’t break eye contact the entire time -- she, looking pensive and uncertain; he, studying her to make sure she didn’t fall over. 

Finally, she said, “I’ve never done that before. I … never even imagined that I could.” 

Chakotay ran his hand through his hair, biting his tongue so as not to smile. She looked deathly serious, as though confessing to a crime. He thought of teasing her but sensed that he didn’t know enough about her past sexual experiences to do so safely. Finally he reached for her, smoothing her hair back from her face, then caressed her shoulders and kissed her very gently on the lips. He said, again, “It’s all right. Don’t worry. We can talk more about it in the morning.”

Then she let him lead her to the bathroom, where they took turns in the sonic shower, too small to share, and he thought wistfully of the large bathtub outside. He noted bruises on her hips and inner thighs, and the pang it gave him made him reconsider her reaction to having scratched him in the throes of passion. She studied his body, biting her upper lip in thought, and he wondered what was tumbling around in her head. 

But the hour was so late, and they were both so tired, he knew any substantive conversation would have to wait until they’d rested. Leaving the bathroom, both naked again, he asked her, “Where do you want to sleep?” 

She looked up at him, a wistful expression on her face, and said simply, “Anywhere, with you.” He led her to her bed, with its clean sheets and pillow scented with the lavender in her bath oil. 

“Do you want your nightgown?” he asked, trying to remember where in the shelter it might have landed, what now felt like a lifetime ago. She shook her head “no,” lay down on her side, and tugged him down behind her. 

The silence between them could have felt awkward, alienating, but then she drew his arm across her body, hugging it under her breasts, and gave a little sighing purr of drowsy pleasure. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed it, said, “Good night, then,” and was almost instantly asleep. 

He studied her profile in the dimness, biting his tongue now to try to curb the swell of emotion in his chest, blinking back tears. He felt so much that he wasn’t sure just  _ what _ he felt, and while he was trying to put his feelings and the events of the past …  _ only six hours?? _ … into some sort of comprehensible order, he too fell asleep. 

\-----

Their bodies, fatigued and sore though they were, had been starved too long of sensual connection to rest for long in such close proximity. In the thin light of very early morning, Chakotay came gradually, blissfully awake to feel Kathryn’s shapely ass rubbing him to hardness in slow, writhing motion. He had both arms wrapped around her -- one over and one under her body, and each hand held a breast. She was already moaning. The sound seemed to fill his ears and spill into every crevice of his brain, and then he was on fire with wanting her, all over again, desperate to fill her, to slake his thirst and spill himself inside her. 

He was so suddenly fevered with lust that he wondered briefly if he might be possessed, like in tales of the Old Ones, some spirit --  _ or alien _ , his twenty-fourth-century mind added -- having taken control of him. 

But whatever torrential current of need was sweeping him along like flotsam, it clearly had Kathryn in its grip as well. She was already panting, curling sinuously against his body, the full length of her seeking contact, succor, relief. If he’d had the rational wherewithal to wonder whether she herself was actually awake, then the way she tugged his right hand down and shoved his fingers between her legs, pressing the middle one unerringly against her clit would have laid his fears to rest. 

Gasping exquisitely, she arched her neck backward, lifting and turning her head until her mouth found his jawline. She whimpered, nipped her teeth against him lightly and then sucked hard, until his mouth found hers and swallowed all the little breathy noises she was making as her pleasure mounted. 

She broke the kiss, reached down and back with her own right hand, shoving his away in her haste, and gripped his throbbing cock. “Now,” she panted. “Now,” and thrust her core back to meet him. As one, they held their breath, their lower bodies groping blindly until he sank home, gripping her hips in one powerful forearm, and she released him to reach up and grab one edge of the headboard for stability. 

She wailed and clenched at him almost immediately. He kissed the side of her neck, the same spot he’d bitten, and kept going, thrusting steadily through her climax, drawing it out, wringing it out of her. She went almost limp, catching her breath. Then she seemed to rouse to the challenge, moved one hand to the bed frame below, and began her own thrusting motion, pounding back into him with increasing force. 

Her right leg had come forward, knee almost to her chest to let him penetrate her most fully; now she raised that leg and hooked it behind his at the knee, leveraging his own body weight to fuck him back, seemingly intent on taking him as decisively as if she were on top. 

He half-grunted, half-bellowed and matched her, thrust for thrust. This time, he meant to leave her in absolutely no doubt as to his stamina. He discovered the flaw in her plan when he realized that her raised leg left her spread open to his questing hand. He steadied her upper torso against his with the arm beneath her, and then with his other hand sought and found, to devastating effect, the very center of her pleasure. She cried out once, twice, and lost the battle, breaking her rhythm and coming hard around him, all white knuckles and shudders that seemed to come from her very bones. 

He stilled, letting her ride this one out in peace, and found himself speaking to her soothingly in his own language, telling her he loved her, he would die for her, he would die without her. He knew she couldn’t have understood the words, if she’d even been able to hear them in her ecstasy, but perhaps the timbre of his voice or the rhythm of the phrases conveyed something of their sentiment, for when she regained control of her body and voice, she brought his left hand to her face and kissed the palm fervently, then twisted her upper body in his embrace to kiss his mouth and throat. 

“Please,” she muttered, in that husky voice that had echoed in his dreams since Kazon space. “Please, Chakotay. You’ve been so good to me. Please take your pleasure.” And she turned again to spoon in his arms, bringing his hand to a nipple and reaching back to run her fingertips through his hair. 

He swallowed, wetting his lips, and stared in wonder at the captivating woman beside him. Her warmth and scent surrounded him even as he wrapped her up in his size and strength. Marveling at how they fit together, he began again to move within and against her, this time closing his eyes and letting sheer sensual instinct take over. 

By the time he finally, finally allowed himself to climax, they were both drenched in sweat, voices hoarse, sporting a few new love bites to go with the previous night’s assortment of scratches and fingerprint-shaped bruises. His face was buried in her hair, mouth latched to the nape of her neck, one large hand spanning both breasts, the other rolling her clit between two fingers, as she bucked and writhed and collapsed, boneless and utterly depleted. 

The sun rose soon after, but they stayed, tangled motionless together in her bed, until it was high in the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * <3 as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta) may be a useful resource for some. 
> 
> I reply to comments. That means you can expect me to reply to your comment, eventually and barring unforeseen circumstances. (Once in a while I miss or don't receive a notification, for example.) 
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> If you _don’t_ want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper.” I will appreciate it but not respond.


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